Sometimes
by zombiekate
Summary: How much pain can one endure before they break? Oneshot, slash, and more angst than should be legal.


A while ago (which could mean anything from months to years, considering the fact that I have absolutely no concept of the passage of time), I read a lovely piece of Tales of Symphonia fanfiction that I thought was absolutely beautiful. The second I finished reading it, I thought, _Well, I can do something like that...I hope._ And so I did. I hope it turned out okay. I really hope this isn't considered plagiarism or anything, because I am citing that the original idea wasn't mine, something like this has indeed been written before, and this is nowhere near as good. I know that my worries might be unfounded, but I don't know what the hell I'm doing, and I honestly don't want to take credit for things that I shouldn't, and I'll stop rambling now and get to the disclaimer so you can read what you came here for.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Yu Yu Hakusho, but I wish I did. Don't you?

* * *

Sometimes, Kurama knows that he is weak. 

His friends are aware of this, even though he puts his impeccably calm face on every single morning. They try to help him when they get the chance, firing energy bullets and slashing at him with their respective swords while narrowly dodging the whip that they know so well. They spar until they are covered in perspiration, barely able to breathe. Every now and then, his eyes glitter triumphantly as he changes from a collected redhead into the silver-haired kitsune that resides in his mind, waiting for a chance to stretch his long legs and teach the others just where they placed on the food chain. When the fight is over, though, and they go to their homes, the sight of the woman who cares for him more than anyone ever could just makes him feel even worse: he cannot even begin to repay her for everything that she has given him.

"You are a great warrior, Kurama," the aged master Genkai tells him in her gravelly voice as she sips at her ever-present cup of tea. "Some fight for power, some for wealth, and others for renown. But those who fight for the ones who can't defend themselves, the ones they love, the ones they cannot bear to lose...they are the ones who will prevail. Love and loss are two of the greatest motivators that a fighter can possess. The fact that your heart is big enough to house both of them at the same time shows just how fortunate you are."

Kurama placidly swallows his own tea, but he is screaming inside.

**x x x**

Sometimes, Kurama finds himself dreaming.

The concoctions of his subconscious are complex, as he is himself. He experiences the dreams that plague most humans--jumbled scenes of everyday life, mixed in with nonsensical words and the occasional neighing lobster. Every so often, however, he floats in the world of his past, no image of death or debauchery escaping the golden eyes that had been trained to weigh the value of an object just by glancing at it. Usually he shrugs it off and goes on with the illusion, searching his memories for a trinket he had missed while raiding a palace or a storeroom filled with valuables, calculating how much time it would have taken for him to go back and get it, if only he had known.

But then he sees _him_, and it's all downhill from there.

It is all he can do to resist those indigo eyes staring out at him from that painfully familiar face that can make him melt in his own skin. He watches as the pendant, silver caressing a glittering ruby, wraps itself around the pale fingers that have memorized every inch of his own form. It unwraps itself, rewraps, unwraps, again and again and again. A sigh escapes his lips as he becomes glad, not for the first time, that his precious Kuronue cannot change while he lingers in the confines of a dream.

A dream. He is aware that this is all that remains of the bat demon he had grown to love. This, however, is not enough to stop fear from dragging her icy claws down his back, leaving him unable to do anything but stand and stare in horror as the dark-haired being in front of him is slowly and systematically rendered lifeless by bamboo stakes that seem to come from every direction. It is not the terrible sadness and sense of emptiness that awakens him from these hellish visions; rather, it's the sick irony of his beloved partner-in-more-than-just-crime being destroyed by the one thing that should not have been able to kill him. Who would have thought that the powerful youko was unable to save the one he held most dear from a plant, of all things?

Kurama remains silent, forcing himself to taste the bitter tears rolling down his cheeks.

**x x x**

Sometimes, Kurama wonders why he bothers at all.

They can all see it, every single one of them. He's not stupid; he can read the looks they give each other when they don't think he's watching. The laughter that used to come so easily when the four of them were together is now strained and full of apprehension. Words are used less and less frequently, giving way for the usual uncomfortable silence, although that's not to say that the attempt at lighthearted conversation isn't occasionally made. Every time it is shot down, however, it takes a longer time to resurface, and each effort at pretending that everything is fine quickly loses its already inadequate strength.

As far as he is concerned, there are no more cases to solve, no more tournaments to attend, no more demons to kill. There is only school, home, school, home, and the pattern is almost never broken. His mother, as loving as ever, thinks that he's just going through a rough spot, but the only three people to see him as he truly is are trying as hard as they can to face the sad truth: it isn't a question of _if _he's going to completely break down, it's merely a question of _when_, and they promise themselves that _when_ it happens, they're all going to be there for him. They're going to catch him before he hits the ground and shatters into a million pieces, and everything will be all right again.

When he inhales the scent of the beautiful, toxic flower he holds in cupped hands, the apartment is empty. It takes a little while before he feels anything, and even then, the effects of the poison are subtle. His limbs become heavier and heavier as his vision blurs, getting progressively worse until all he can see are splashes of light and color, mixed with darker patches that he can only assume are shadows cast by the furniture. As his breathing becomes more labored, he finds himself on the ground, and as light, shadow, and color mix to form a dark red haze, the kind of which he had only seen in the eternally-spinning pendant of a lost love...he smiles.

Kurama closes his eyes, and for the first time in a long time, he is truly happy.

* * *

Well, I really hope you liked my first uploaded fanfic. Please review! It would mean the world to me.

A/N: Yes, I know that Kurama would probably never kill himself. At the same time, though, no matter how strong you are, you can only take so much pain and suffering before you stumble and the ceiling comes crashing down on you. Besides, I was feeling angsty when I wrote this.


End file.
